Ruby Red
by Gray Doll
Summary: Red was her favourite colour, she conceded. For it was the colour of blood, and also the colour of his eyes. Bella/Voldemort


A.N./ _Today was a weird day. I woke up thinking of Bellamort. I had lunch thinking of Bellamort. I went to work thinking of Bellamort. And I sat down in front of my computer thinking of Bellamort. So -you guessed it- I wrote some Bellamort. And wearing red jeans all day long, combined with the sudden blackout and inevitable use of candles, kind of set the mood for this little story_.

_And, yes, Bellatrix does say "_our_ veins". Poor, ignorant her..._

* * *

**Ruby Red**

Bellatrix knows what being happy is like. She's felt happy countless times in her life, for various reasons; she remembers being happy when her Aunt bought her an exquisite dress sewn together with black lace. She remembers being happy while running through a slushy field along with Cissa and Meda. She remembers being happy in so many occasions.

But she had never dared hope she could feel _euphoric_.

She is positive she was quite ecstatic when she finally received her Mark from the Dark Lord, or when she killed her first Muggle for him, but this state of bliss is unknown territory, and all she wants is to explore it even further and relish the brilliant sensations.

The Dark Lord's touch is surely the most exquisite feeling she has ever experienced. She has waited oh so long for this, she has been fantasizing and dreaming of the day when her Lord would finally put his hands on her like that since the day she first met him.

And, _oh_, it's even better than what she had expected.

It's becoming harder and harder to throttle the soft sighs and moans that escape her parted mouth as his lips brush ever so slightly against her neck. His teeth softly graze the tender flesh there and it takes every ounce of Bellatrix's willpower to stop her arms from wrapping about his neck.

She knows there will be consequences if she dares do such thing without his permission.

But, surprisingly, she does not bother and decides she is content with how things are. This moment is too precious, too _beautiful _to be ruined by such trivial wishes of hers.

"Oh… my Lord…" The words leave her lips before she can stop them, and she almost bursts with delight when, instead of scolding her, he moves his head lower and she feels his tongue against her bare breast. "Oh… Please, my Lord… _Don't stop_…"

"I don't intend to," he murmurs and Bella's back arches off the bed at the sound of his voice. It might be just her imagination, or simply the novelty of it all, but she fancies she hears the faintest catch of lust in her Lord's voice.

"I… My Lord, you… please me so much…" She manages between gasps as his lips travel lower still, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin.

"Do I, my Bella?" He asks, and he sounds almost nonchalant, as if discussing the weather, but Bellatrix could swear she can feel him smirk against her flesh.

"Oh, you do… You do, my Lord…" She is out of breath now, and she lets out a slightly disappointed gasp when he lifts his mouth from her, his hot breath tingling like sweet madness.

"I'm glad I am satisfying you, Bella. It is indeed rather… _fair_, for me to know I am living up to your expectations."

Bellatrix's eyes are now wide open in terror, and she hastily pulls her knees up to her chest, mentally screaming at herself for upsetting her Lord, for pushing him too far… _And for ruining her perfect moment_.

The Dark Lord laughs. It's a short, chuckling sound that emanates from his throat and his crimson eyes glitter with amusement as she looks down at him with fear, bracing herself for either a curse or a sharp slap across the face.

But nothing happens.

"_Relax_, my Bella," he says softly, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "How can you _enjoy _this if you are constantly terrified of saying the wrong thing?"

Bellatrix's mouth is now positively hanging open. Now it resembles a snake's hiss, his laugh, and when his long, nimble fingers close firmly around her ankles she feels her skin burn where he's touching her.

He forcibly pulls her limbs down once again, placing each slender leg against his hips, chuckling darkly at the sound of her now hopeless moans. He kisses her then, and he sends her flying somewhere above heaven. She cries out against the coldness of her lips, her small hands fighting to pull his body closer to hers, her legs wrapping around his waist but still he avoids fulfilling her only wish, still keeps her deliriously on the edge between desperation and ecstasy.

Her sharp nails are ravaging his back, and, unable to help herself, she throws her head back and moans in pleasure when his lips attack her neck and she knows she will be covered in bruises by dawn, but she could not care less.

"_My Lord_…" She needs him. "Please. _Please_."

He grants her wish. And then she sees red, and she is ecstatic.

It is only after they have finished, while they're lying in his bed together, still entwined in each other's arms, that he lifts his head and stares at her. Bellatrix is sure he can see straight through her eyes -her whole body shudders.

"My Lord…" She breathes, "That was… It was…"

He places a long, pale finger against her bruised lips and she falls silent, leaning like a cat against his touch, savouring the taste of his skin. "Tell me, Bella," he speaks after three long, blissful seconds. "What is your favourite colour?"

Her eyes narrow, a frown is creasing her forehead. "Pardon me, my Lord?"

"I asked," he repeats, this time a touch louder, "what is your favourite colour?"

"I…" She bites down on her lip as he pulls away from her, just an inch, and her fists wrap themselves in the silk sheets. She is certain now he's just toying with her. He's been waiting for the perfect moment to ask her a question that presumably has no right or wrong answer, only to see the fear and bewilderment written all over her face. _What is she supposed to answer_?

"I am waiting for an answer, Bella," he says, but his voice isn't angry. Surprisingly, it isn't mocking or accusing either.

Only... faintly _amused_?

A brittle, warning voice is whispering something nearly incoherent somewhere in the back of her head, and a new idea slowly begins to form. But could she ever do it? _If she dares..._

But _oh_, perhaps she does. Perhaps she can try to push him as well, _just _a little…

She props herself up on her elbows, allowing a small smile on her lips, trying to hide her apprehension behind a carefully constructed, seemingly confident mask.

"What is _your _favourite colour, my Lord?"

She gulps down a lump in her throat at the sight of him rising from the mattress as well, staring down at his servant. "Bella?"

"My Lord." She is threading on thin ice. She's playing with fire, and perhaps she will burn eventually, but she does not care. _Not right now, at least_.

His initially shocked expression gives way to a small, sly smirk that matches -and easily surpasses- her own. "My favourite colour, my Bella…" he starts, moving closer to her and laying a hand upon her shoulder, his spider-like fingers slowly stroking the skin there. "Oh, I have never put much thought in it."

"No, my Lord?" She asks, a bit breathlessly, as his fingers continue to trace abstract patterns down the length of her arm.

"No," he answers, his smirk always in place. "It could be…. black," he whispers, his finger finding the area just below her navel, making her gasp softly at the touch. "For it is the colour of mystery… Of darkness… Of death, even," his voice is now softer, barely audible, and his finger eases itself lower, _lower_, entwining itself in dark curls and making Bellatrix moan softly. "Or it could be green… For it is the colour of Slytherin… Of emeralds… Of _serpents_…" his voice comes out more like a hiss at the last word, and Bellatrix can feel shivers going down her spine.

"There," he whispers, "I answered you. Now it's your turn, Bella."

She inhales deeply, and forces her smirk back in place. He has removed his fingers, and she presumes it is her turn now to catch the ball. _Perhaps she could try_…. _He seems to be in a rather… playful mood tonight_…

She tentatively places a hand on his thin chest, peeking at him through her thick lashes. He does not push her away nor does he say anything, and she nods slowly, _for this is definitely positive_. She lets her hand wander across his chest and then down to his abdomen, her fingers ghosting over his flesh, and she smiles, almost triumphantly, when she realizes his breathing has become quicker.

"Red," she says finally, and nearly laughs when his eyes widen.

"_Red_?"

"Red," she repeats, shifting closer to him, but always careful not to let their bodies touch. "Red, because…" She pauses when he inhales deeply the moment her hand closes around his arousal, "because it is the colour of blood. Of the pure blood running through our veins… And the blood covering the dead bodies of the worthless filth that rightfully die by our hand…"

She sighs, leaning against the hand he is now placing against her neck. "Red… Because it is the colour of your eyes, my Lord."

Air seems to still around them, and Bella knows she has said the wrong thing. She took it too far, she knows, but she spoke the truth, and she is all but certain he is well aware of the sincerity of her words.

And then he kisses her.

Bellatrix's heart bursts with emotions she has never felt so intense until now; lust and passion, joy and delight, triumph and relief, and there is also something else, hidden in the back of her mind, carefully locked away in the smallest and most carefully obscured place of the black realm that is her heart.

The Dark Lord is merely satisfied. Satisfied that Bella has so effortlessly given him everything he has asked of his faithful servant; her mind, body, and now soul.


End file.
